


The Interrogation

by xoxoconsu



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 08:52:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/924359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xoxoconsu/pseuds/xoxoconsu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amelia Pond has been captured.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Interrogation

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Contains a character death. You've been warned.

            Amelia Pond wakes up in an unfamiliar room, strapped to an operating table that’s been propped upright so as to give her a clear view of what’s in front of her. Her arms are bound to the table, turned so the pale skin of her inner arms and wrists is exposed. Amy is no longer wearing the combination of jeans and a t-shirt she remembers having donned this morning, but instead a hospital gown covers her. She’s alone, for now, and she takes advantage of this privacy to scrutinise her surroundings. Monitors set up on desks, facing away from her, little rolling trays laden with instruments that gleam with a cold metallic light, a dark tiled floor that obviously hides suspicious stains, and metal walls to tie the room together. She hears footsteps and turns hazel eyes to the large door to her right, narrowing her eyes as she sees lab coat-clad individuals walk through the door, holding clipboards and pens.

 

            They ignore Amy, instead choosing to circle her, examining her as they murmur and make notes on their clipboards. She tolerates this for an aggravated minute before blurting out, her tone harsh, her accent emphasised by anger, “Would anyone like to tell me what the hell is going on here?”

 

            Her anger increases as one of the individuals turns to her, an air of disinterest surrounding his words. “Ah, Ms. Pond. You’re awake. Good. We have a few questions we’d like to ask you.”

 

            “This isn’t exactly the best way to question someone, y’know. It might be better to see if they’ll cooperate before tying them up. Just a heads up for the next time you do this.” Amy retorts, glaring at the man now standing in front of her, poking at her arms while she tries, fruitlessly, to wriggle enough to smack him in the face.

 

            “Yes. We’ll keep that in mind, Ms. Pond. Now, to our questions.” With nary a motion from the first scientist, the others stop circling Amy and move to stand on either side of him, staring blankly at her. “We’ll start with some simpler questions. First off, what is your full name?” Before she can answer, the scientist adds, gesturing to the instruments set up on the rolling trays near her. “Keep in mind, Ms. Pond, we do have our methods to ensure your full cooperation, so I would highly recommend answering honestly.”

 

            “Don’t you know my name already?” When all she receives is a stern look, Amy sighs. “Whatever. Amelia Jessica Pond. Happy now?” All she gets is a nod while the scientist scribbles on his clipboard.

 

            “Moving on. Are you currently in a romantic relationship?”

 

            “What is this, a questionnaire for a social networking site?” Amy scoffs, punctuating the statement with a roll of her hazel eyes. “Yes, I am married. Is that a problem?”

 

            “Not at all, Ms. Pond.” Amy can see a smile growing on the scientist’s face, a smile she doesn’t trust at all. “We’re only testing your responses when you tell the truth. Now, if you please, tell us a lie.”

 

            “Fine, whatever. I am absolutely _overjoyed_ to be here.” Amy’s tone is drier than a desert, her expression blank and her voice a monotone.

 

            “An actual, _believable_ lie, please.”

 

            “…I had an imaginary friend when I was seven years old.” Her only response is more scribbling as the scientists who stationed themselves at the computers type as quickly as they can.

 

The scientist looks up at her, adjusting his lab coat while regarding Amy curiously. “Next question. Do you know a man called the Doctor?”

 

            The nature of the question stuns Amy into a drawn-out silence, leaving her unsure of how best to answer. On the one hand, she’d never betray the Doctor. On the other hand, she knows it’s pointless to lie to the scientist. Finally, Amy nods.

 

            “Good. Thank you. Now, Ms. Pond. How long did you travel with the Doctor?”

 

            “Quite a few years. It’s difficult to keep track of exactly how long, though, so too bad for you.”

 

            It’s like this for the next few minutes, Amy answering each question with as much sass as she can muster and the scientist ignoring her unpleasantness in favour of asking her more questions. There’s one question, however, that Amy can’t bring herself to answer, no matter what. All the previous questions about the Doctor had been regarding their trips and their different meetings, and she had answered with as little detail as she could. Now, however, it was different.

 

            “I can’t tell you.”

 

            “Come now, Ms. Pond. Surely you’re aware of the consequences not answering us could have?” The scientist raises his eyebrows at her, his expression mildly interested, as it had been since the beginning.

 

            “I won’t answer that question. I don’t care what you do.” Amy shakes her head at the scientist, glaring furiously at his persistence.

 

            “Don’t you worry, Ms. Pond. We’ll manage to _coax_ an answer from you soon enough. We have our ways, as I have told you before.” His expression changes then, his lips twisting into a faintly cruel smirk. The scientist puts his clipboard and pen down by one of the computers, turning to her again after pulling on a pair of disposable latex gloves. He walks to one of the rolling trays, picking up a knife and examining it, his expression blank save for the downright minatory sneer pulling at his lips. The knife shines menacingly, the sharp blade reflecting the light from above. The scientist steps closer to Amy, showing her the knife. “Now, Ms. Pond, I do hope you’ll reconsider your answer. After all, I would hate to have to do this.”

 

            “Never.” Amy is as fierce and as stubborn as ever, her eyes shining with a determinedly defiant gleam as she scowls at the scientist. She doesn’t regret her answer, not even when she feels the cool blade of the knife bite into the delicate skin of her bared forearm, drawing a thin trail of crimson blood from the porcelain skin. Amy winces, but otherwise gives no reaction to the pain. The scientist notes this and continues slicing shallow cuts into her skin, commenting idly, as one would speak of the weather to an acquaintance, of the pain she could save herself from, if only she were to give him an answer. Amy’s teeth sink into her lower lip to keep herself from crying out as the sensitive skin of her forearm is cut into. She doesn’t utter a word as he continues, moving on to her other arm. By now, her right arm is a stinging mess of blood trailing down the appendage, and her left arm is on its way to becoming the same. The scientist continues, making deeper cuts on her arms as Amy bites back cries of pain. She struggles, but that only increases the pain. Her blood is quickly pooling on the floor now, dripping quickly onto the already-stained tiles. 

 

            The scientist tsks quietly, feigning a reproachful expression as he tilts the operating table Amy’s tied to so it’s horizontal. He puts down the bloodstained knife, a cruel sneer twisting his expression. He turns away, grabbing a small, metal-tipped stick attached to long wires, and putting it close to Amy’s face. It fizzes with electricity, and Amy can’t help but flinch as it sends off sparks. The scientist runs it over her covered abdomen, keeping his finger off the button so it does nothing but send chills of dread up Amy’s spine. She trembles, unable to hide the fear in her eyes from the scientist. He shifts the papery fabric, and Amy’s glad that whomever changed her clothes left her underwear on. Putting down the electrified baton, the scientist snatches a pair of scissors and cuts away the hospital gown that Amy wears. Amy grimaces but doesn’t try to move; she knows anything she tries will be pointless. Well, anything but the one thing she’ll never dare to do: answer the scientist’s question.

 

            The scientist holds the electrified baton over her now-exposed abdomen, almost _caressing_ the faintly freckled skin with a truly cold smile that only serves to darken his expression. With the press of a button and a twist of his wrist, electricity arcs through the short distance between the baton and Amy, effectively sending the hundreds of volts coursing through her as she trembles helplessly. Amy whimpers, her teeth digging into her lower lip and drawing blood in an attempt to bite back a scream of agony. Amy can feel the deadly energy flowing through her, burning as it runs its course through her body. It’s almost too much pain for her to bear, except she knows she’d bear unimaginable amounts of pain to protect the man she hasn’t seen in years. She’d be willing to do anything in order to protect her Raggedy Doctor. Amy suffers through two more shocks before giving in, her bloodstained lips parting to allow a miserable scream to escape.

 

            The scientist smirks coldly, turning to put away the electrifying weapon. When he turns to face Amy again, in his hands is a small syringe; the vial of which is filled with a glowing yellow liquid while the sharp point glows an intense red. A damp cloth is used to wipe away the blood on the crease of her arm before he presses the white-hot tip of the syringe to the somewhat clean area. Amy lets out a pained hiss, the sound increasing to a gasp as the scientist injects the glowing yellow liquid into her bloodstream, the burning tip of the syringe increasing the pain she feels as it begins to flow through her veins.

 

            Her entire body is burning and she is shaking and trembling as if the action would change anything. It doesn’t. It doesn’t help. She’s burning alive, or so it feels, as the poison makes its way through her body. Amy screams and screams, needing to vocalise her agony in some way. It hurts so much, all this horrible pain. Shivers make their way up her spine as a spear of icy dread stabs her heart with the assured knowledge that she won’t walk away from this. It’s too late. She’s burning, relentless fire replacing her blood as she sobs in agony, her lips bloodied, her arms bleeding again from the physical strain of her senseless convulsions. She can’t stop moving, trying in vain to somehow rid herself of this cruel, blistering heat within her body.

 

            Amy can barely breathe now, strangled sobs and screams wrenching themselves from her throat as the fire tears her apart at the seams. It feels as if her entire body is being torn apart, piece by piece, then being glued back together so the whole agonising process can begin anew. Burning tears trail down her flushed cheeks as she continues to scream and sob, begging for her life even as the essence of it leaves her. Her screams die down as the poison begins to take effect on her organs, shutting them down one by one. Her pounding heart slows for a second before resuming its mad race against the lethal poison.

 

            With her last breath, Amy screams, all the agony she’s ever felt tied into a single, miserable, inhuman wail. The scream fades, and the scientist turns to his assistants. “Get rid of her. Bring in the next companion.”


End file.
